


When I say good morning, you say goodnight

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 24 hour diners, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Ambiguous Relationships, Boys Kissing, Dessert & Sweets, Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gratuitous references to stray kids/3racha songs, Late Night Conversations, Late Night Drives, Late at Night, M/M, No post-it notes were harmed in the making of this fic, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Slice of Life, Title from blue orange ade by txt uwu, a big ol slice of life, are minsung dating? Are they just best friends who kiss? Up to u!, have I established yet that this takes place at 2 am, i tried to make it immersive/atmospheric of late night drives, if reading this can make u forget abt everything for a few mins then ill be v happy, jk there is a plot, minsung drive thru town at 3 am n then get milkshakes, minsung loving/caring for each other for 4k, once again i wrote this at an art gallery, the world is kinda stressful rn so I hope this fic can allow u to relax, this is a very chill/relaxing read (i hope), this is becoming a trend for me, this is cute i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jisung's busted up, hand-me-down sedan is a microcosm. And when he and Minho go on 3 a.m. drives through the shadowy streets of their town, the entirety of the known universe is held between the windshield and the rear view.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 19
Kudos: 175
Collections: Anonymous





	When I say good morning, you say goodnight

Minho's phone buzzed to life on his desk. Which is odd in itself, considering the fact it's after 2 in the morning, and Minho assumed most of his contacts are long since asleep.

****

But perhaps that's too broad a brushstroke to paint across their town at after 2 in the morning. Minho is wide awake, after all. 

****

He snatched his phone off the tabletop, and clicked it on. A single text stares back at him, overlaid across his lockscreen of his three beloved cats. 

****

**_Jisung (probs with a bad idea. don't answer):_ **

****

_ i'm coming over to pick you up. we're going driving loser  _

****

Minho's lips quirked up at the corners, as he gave the deceptively simple message a read. He would have full-on belly-laughed, but he doesn't want to wake up his parents in the next room over. It's not even a question, Jisung's text. It's a statement. Minho has no room to argue—but it isn't like he was planning on it. 

****

He quickly typed out his response, without even thinking. Minho completely ignored the very contact heading he set, and answered. 

****

_ fine  _

****

_ but only if we can swing by the 24 hour diner and get milkshakes later  _

****

His phone buzzed again, this time in his palm. Minho sighed, and rolled his eyes. He  _ always  _ tells Jisung not to text and drive.

****

**_Jisung (probs with a bad idea. don't answer):_ **

****

_ hell fucking yeah we can get shakes  _

****

_ i'll pay, since you did last time  _

****

Minho paid last time? 

****

Damn. He doesn't even remember. He supposes that's what staying up all hours of the night does to you. He went on his last night ride with Jisung only two days ago! And he did pay, he remembers now. It just took him a second or two to sift the memory free from the grains of fatigue clouding his head. 

****

Why does Minho stay up so late, you ask? 

****

Well, there's no specific reason. He's simply a night owl, through and through. Sometimes he procrastinates assignments, and needs to work the entire duration of the night perfecting them before the incoming due date. Sometimes he gets lost in his favorite films, and falls down a Studio Ghibli rabbit hole until the sun begins to peak up from the horizon line. Sometimes he gets entranced in his Animal Crossing village. Sometimes he gets distracted playing with his cats.

****

Sometimes he forces himself to stay up, in case a text from a familiar contact comes through. Like tonight. Or this morning. 2 a.m. is one of those hours that feels like a parallel universe, where it's still too dark to be considered day, but it's so goddamn late the calendar date has already changed. Something about 2 a.m. is vaguely uncanny, like a humanoid robot that’s  _ just  _ fleshy enough to appear as the real deal, but the matteness of its silicon skin shows it is anything but. It's caught between being late and being early, and had Minho not made 2 a.m. his second home he would be hopelessly confused by the metaphoric semantics of the hour. 

****

As if on cue, his phone pinged to life once again.

****

**_Jisung (probs with a bad idea. don't answer):_ **

****

_ be there in five, so get ready  _

****

_ you know I hate waiting  _

****

And boy, does Minho ever. 

****

He’s vaguely tired after being awake for so long, but Minho spurred his body into motion. He has to formalize his appearance, at least somewhat, before Jisung gets here. 

****

Yes, Minho keeps himself awake even when exhaustion is burning up his eyes in case Jisung offers another midnight ride through town. Like what happened tonight, or today, or whatever the hell you want to call it. It's not healthy. Nothing is healthy, when Jisung is involved. Hell, the kid keeps a  _ log  _ of each time they get milkshakes, for god's sake. His name is synonymous with bad habits;

****

Sugar packed drinks, with a calorie count that could make a body builder shudder. Junk food, the crumpled wrappers discarded beneath the gas pedal and brake of his janky sedan. Staying up all goddamn night, just because, and taking Minho along with him into the next day. Texting while driving. Texting  _ Minho  _ while driving, even when he's begged Jisung not to. Or at least to just wait until he's stopped at a light. Being horribly impatient; so impatient he can't even wait till he's stopped at a light to text Minho. 

****

But that's Jisung for you. He's here for a good time, not a long time. In fact, that's what Jisung says every time Minho calls him out on one of his litany of bad behaviors. Minho can never shake Jisung; not like he'd ever want to. As far as he's concerned, Jisung is his responsibility. And if he has to tack another sticky note to his stained dashboard with  _ don't text and drive!!!  _ or  _ get an oil change soon!  _ written in black sharpie, then he will. So be it. 

****

Minho loves Jisung. He loves his bad habits. Loves his hip hop playlist, that he blasts through his staticy sound system until the next Spotify ad ruins their groove. He loves how he doesn't ask, he  _ tells.  _ How he tells Minho he's taking him on a 2 a.m. drive whether he likes it or not. (He does. Very much.) 

****

He loves how they drive through the desolate streets of their town through all hours of the night, laughing and singing and living until their hankering for milkshakes overtakes their desire to belt out the lyrics to the next song. It's a routine. A habit. 

****

Not one Minho is eager to squash. 

****

And with that, Minho clicked his phone back to sleep, and shoved it in his pocket. He won't need it again, until later. 

****

He'll know when Jisung will get here. 

🌌

**_  
  
  
_ **

The chill of winter tore through Minho as if he'd stuck his hand in a socket. 

****

He bundled up in his thickest bomber jacket before leaving, but the cold still took two fistfuls of him and squeezed all the residual warmth from his bones. He shivered, and hugged his jacket closer to his body. His breath came through his lips as puffs of ghostly grey smoke, as he ran. Ran towards the hand-me-down-sedan double parked parallel with his parent's cars. 

****

The car with two cloudy headlights seeping fuzzy gold light onto the inky streets. Headlights that are in need of a nice cleaning. The headlights that shined right through Minho's second floor bedroom, alerting him of its owner’s arrival on the street level. Headlights that are unmistakable, if Minho didn't immediately recognize the chipped paint scar on the passenger side door. Minho made that scuff in the ancient paint job, three months ago. He misjudged the distance between the car and the knobby bark of the tree they parked next to, as he swung the door open. The rest is history.

****

Jisung refuses to get it fixed. Calls it a  _ memory.  _

****

Minho shut and locked his front door, before speed walking over to the car. Softly, so he won't rouse his parents sleeping on the second floor. Quickly, so none of his cats can attempt to escape. Last time Dori got out, it took him _seven_ _hours_ and three different brands of cat treats to get her back. 

****

Minho threw open the passenger side of the idling sedan, and all but dove inside. It's warm; the heat hit him like a brick wall. Like it's a physical entity sat in the seat, literally and figuratively keeping it warm for him. 

****

“Good morning,” Jisung greeted, lazily, at the sight of Minho bucking his seatbelt. Jisung craned his neck down to get a good look at Minho, as he fumbled with the latch. He must have taken note of his reddened nose and cheeks, visible even under the partial glow of the adjacent street light. He must have taken notice of the residual chatter between his teeth.

****

Silently, Jisung turned up the heat in the car. Blasted it at its highest, until it sounded like a goddamn jet engine is revving inside the four door. He even reached over, and angled all the vents towards Minho.

****

“Good night.” Minho responded, just to be contrary. It's not morning or night and rather something implacable in between, but that doesn't matter to Minho. He just smirked, and let the wave of warmth work its magic. He melted into the plush seat, feeling the invisible layer of ice sheathing his fingers begin to give way.

****

Soon Minho is warm. Inside and out. 

****

He's not just warm—he's  _ sweltering. _

****

Jisung hummed, never one to argue the possible connotations of the a.m. hours, and put the car in drive. Before peeling away from Minho's driveway, he pressed play on his phone. The device is hooked up to a fraying aux cord, but that didn't hinder the fiery bars that began to spit from the speakers. 

****

There is a colony of post-it notes stuck across Jisung’s dashboard and console, bright green and orange and fuchsia. They're all from Minho.  _ Get gas soon!  _ and  _ text me when you get home!  _ and  _ clean out your cup holders!  _ and other messages he doesn't even  _ recall  _ writing. One just says  _ drive safe or else,  _ an angry face with angled eyebrows drawn below. Minho remembers writing that one. One simply reads  _ I love you.  _ Minho remembers writing that one too.

****

Jisung's car is relatively clean, save for the foil wrappers of junk food on the floor and the sticky notes on the control panel. He refuses to remove the empty and crumpled bags of chips and candy because it'd be too much work. He refuses to take down Minho's post-it messages, for the same reason Jisung keeps the gash of peeled paint in the passenger door. Because they're memories, right there before your eyes. Tactile memories, that you can hold and touch and read. And sometimes, Jisung needs those reminders to get his oil changed or to vacuum the space between the seats and the doors. Sometimes he needs to be reminded to drive safely. He never needs to be reminded that Minho loves him, but Jisung often eyes that particular sticky note as if it's hewn from a block of pure gold. Minho always sees that tiny square of neon orange reflected in Jisung’s eyes, pinpricks of vibrancy in the darkness of his pupils and irises. 

****

Minho's house has long been left in the proverbial dust, but he still feels completely at home. 

****

The clock on Jisung’s dash struck 3 in the morning, and Minho loosened his jacket from where it was hugging his body. He got hot pretty fast. He won't blame it fully on the dry heat spewing from the angled vents; he always did have a thing for how Jisung drives with one hand, the other placed gently on the curve of Minho's thigh.

****

Jisung never says anything. Just lightly drapes his palm over Minho's muscular thigh, as soon as he begins driving. Sometimes he drags it down, to the round of his knee. Sometimes he kneads the flesh in time with the particular song playing. He never needs to say anything. 

****

The intimacy is so casual and nonchalant it always makes Minho's headspin. Without fail, just one look down at Jisung’s hand caressing his thigh, and Minho feels whiplashed. 

****

The song playing hit its climax; some artfully angsty edm number about  _ stepping out of voices.  _

****

Jisung is not driving particularly fast, but it feels as if he's shifted gears into warp-speed as they pass under each street light. How the baubles of dingy light bleed into the next, like asteroids. It always makes Minho dizzy if he looks at them for too long, so he turned his gaze to his left. Towards Jisung, in the driver's seat.

****

“You look nice.” Minho said it so softly, he was afraid the electro beats would swallow the words whole. And Jisung does look nice. Very nice, in spite of the red-eye hour. He's got a white knit beanie shoved onto his mop of straw-blonde hair, and coupled with the fleshy padding on his cheeks, he almost appears egg-like in the murky light. A very cute egg, but something hard boiled nonetheless.

****

Luckily, Jisung seems to have heard him over the music. His lips pulled into a lazy, crooked smile. “You look good too, ‘Min. As always.” 

****

Minho felt his cheeks blush hot, hot, red. Now, the blast of warmth in the car is overwhelming. He reached out a hand of his own, and dialed down the heat. He angled the vents towards the ceiling, as he giggled into his hand. Jisung has always had such a way with words. Such a charmer. 

****

And if 2 a.m. is something from a parallel universe, 3 a.m. is somewhat apocalyptic. 

****

The lights are off in every house they pass, reducing them to blocks of tiered darkness. Black holes with a front door and dimmed porch lights. 

****

Every car is locked up tight and sitting perfectly in driveways. The tree branches are still, the vibrant green lawns are still and muted into off putting emerald under the moonlight. Their town is quaint during the day, but at night it appears slightly dystopian. A perverse mimic of what is beautiful and idyllic during the morning. Humanity tucked away until it's just out of sight, and on the cusp of eerie. But Minho likes the town at night. It's calming in its stillness alone, elegiac in its absence of movement and people and noise. 

****

He enjoys the town when they're the only two persons driving in it. Living in it. 

****

Jisung swung a hard right, and wheeled them past the flower shop on the outskirts of main street. The bay windows are black in the night, the moonlight doing little to illuminate the floral arrangements displayed on the counter. They're leaving the residential streets behind, as Jisung turns down on the shopping road in town. He didn't even bother putting his blinker on. Maybe that can be a new sticky note-reminder for his dashboard, courtesy of Minho. In fact, Minho suddenly became cognitively aware of the pack of post-its safely stored in his jacket pocket, brought for this very reason. 

****

They drove even further, as the next song screamed to life. Something about honey and fried chicken and  _ getting cooler.  _ Surprisingly bubbly and chipper for Jisung’s usual playlist. 

****

Jisung visibly tensed as he picked up speed, and sent them flying through a yellow light  _ right  _ as it turned to red. Past the closed grocery store, hulking and somewhat threatening in the dead of night. 

****

Jisung eased his foot off the gas, and relaxed in his seat. If Jisung is impatient enough to not wait until he's stopped to text, a  _ red light  _ is the bane of his existence. Absentmindedly, Jisung’s thumb stroked into the terry of Minho’s sweats, tenderly pressing into the wiry muscle beneath the fabric. As if reveling in his triumph over the dastardly red light. 

****

It just struck Minho upside the head that they haven't spoken in a while. Minutes, since the last song about stepping out of voices blasted through the subwoofers. But it's ok, their silence. They don't  _ need _ to talk on their 3 a.m. joyrides. Sure, they can be loud enough to be heard throughout the entire town, but they can also bask in the complete absence of chatter. The duality of man, or something like that. 

****

On their journeys to nowhere, they can just  _ be.  _ Existing in each other's presence is more than enough. 

****

Jisung changed the song, halfway through the second chorus. It seems he's had his fill of bubblegum pop for one night. The next track is dark and angry, featuring biting verses about picking up the pace. Which, perhaps coincidentally, is exactly what Jisung did.

****

He stomped on the gas pedal, bypassing a stop sign at the deserted intersection by the library. Everything is so dark and still and quiet, and Jisung's car is a meteor of light and sound and motion. He zips through the blackness like a shooting star. He cuts through the murk like a sharpened blade. 

****

“What flavor are you gonna get?” 

****

Jisung piped up after what felt like years of idle silence. Minho had to rack his brain for a second, to connect the dots as to what he meant.

****

Right—the promised milkshakes. 

****

Minho tapped his chin, “probably mint choco? I got strawberry last time, so I wanna try something new.” 

****

Jisung scoffed, and Minho could see him roll his eyes despite his gaze trained on the road. His headlights bounce stark white off the reflective lines painted on the asphalt. “Mint chocolate is the  _ worst.  _ Tastes like candy filled with toothpaste. Disgusting.” 

****

Minho was about to protest, go on a rant to defend mint chocolate’s honor, when a pocket of garish technicolor made itself known. Down the street, and on the right side of the road, is the 24 hour diner. Mid-century design with modern technology making it glow rainbow in the night. It's all chromatic and glossy, piped with fluorescent lights and neon signs in the shape of martini glasses and slices of cake. Candy colored to the point of giving Minho a sugar rush from just a look at its facade.

****

The lot is completely empty, save for a couple cars in the employee side of the plot. With his snazzy one-handed steering, Jisung easily piloted them to the diner and slid into a spot right by the door. 

****

They clicked out of their seatbelts in unison and hopped up the stone stairs in tandem, before Jisung pulled ahead. He skipped before Minho, took the chrome door handle in hand, and opened it with a relatively theatric  _ whoosh.  _

****

“M’inho,” Jisung drawled, dramatically gesturing for Minho to enter as he popped his beanie off his head. He tipped the limp ball of fabric towards Minho as he bowed, revealing Jisung's fluffy hat-hair, before he stuffed the beanie back on his head. 

****

Minho exhaled sharply through his nose; Jisung knows that's the best laugh he's gonna get. He lightly punched Jisung on the shoulder, and entered the diner. The smack, albeit visibly exasperated, was loving all the same. Jisung yelped and pawed at his shoulder, over-exaggeratingly screwing his eyes shut as he winced. 

****

Minho smiled until his cheeks hurt, as Jisung bounded up to his side after sufficiently moping. 

****

The diner is devoid of a soul, save for a tired looking teen behind the counter. Despite that, Minho and Jisung still argued over where to plant themselves for the night. It took them a good five minutes of bantering, but they eventually settled on a booth near the back; the vintage-style banquette right next to a window overlooking the road. 

****

Everything in the restaurant is so bright. The linoleum floor is colorful, somehow. Speckled with flecks of sparkling pink when the light hits it just right. The walls are colorful, swirled with orange and blue and violet until it's borderline sickening. Valentine’s Day has long-since passed, but there's still paper cut-outs of hearts plastered on the mirrored back wall. 

****

The amalgam of style and pigment is beginning to give Minho a headache. So he turned his gaze back to the boy sitting opposite him. 

****

Jisung is pillowing his cheek on a closed fist, looking at Minho through hooded eyes. He's smiling, as if he'd been staring at Minho this whole time. Maybe he had been, while Minho mentally chastised the interior decorator of the diner. 

****

“What?” Minho couldn't help but ask. 

****

Jisung chuckled, and slid out from the faux-leather booth. “Nothing,” he mused. Lying, clearly. Minho can tell from the reddened tips of his ears. 

****

But with that, Jisung shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, and made his way over to the counter to order.

****

They don't even have their milkshakes yet, but Minho tastes the unmistakable sweetness of sugar on his tongue.

**_  
  
  
_ **

🌌

**__  
  
  
**

_ 4:45 a.m. _

****

The digits on Jisung’s dashboard clock leer at Minho, malicious in their slimy neon green color alone. 

****

Damn. They stayed out  _ late  _ tonight. Or early? Early, probably, because the dark sky is beginning to lighten at the horizon line. A wash of pastel light, as the sun readies itself to make its grand entrance and bring the blinding light of day to the world. 

****

The sky had steadily turned from black to navy to robin’s egg to lilac. Now, the stars have bid the atmosphere farewell, as the cosmos turn ethereal purple through the windshield. 

****

They got too into the milkshakes. Got lost in the yesterworld atmosphere of the diner. Became hypnotized in the vintage rat-pack numbers flowing from the speakers. 

****

The shakes were sweet but not too, just cloying enough to stave off the exhaustion brimming at Minho's chest. His mint chocolate option was adequately tangy and zesty, but Jisung’s was saccharine enough to make a dentist have cavity-centric nightmares. Minho knows, because he took a long swig of Jisung’s cheesecake shake when he offered the straw across the table. Minho did the same, but Jisung turned up his nose at the prospect of taste-testing the other shake. Minho then engaged in a twenty-three minute argument with Jisung as to why mint chocolate has its merits, compared to Jisung’s choice of New York cheesecake flavor. Then Minho got brain freeze, and then Jisung got brain freeze. Then Jisung went on a thirty-four minute tirade about why bug type pokemon are severely underrated. Minho sat there and listened as intently as his growing fatigue permitted. Then they both got brain freeze again, and writhed in their booth. 

****

Minho slurped up the last dribs and drabs of his shake and chucked the cup in the trash, as Jisung paid the tab at the counter. His own shake still clasped in hand, as he'd been nursing the sugary goodness to make it last. And now here they are; where it all began. Parked outside Minho’s house. 

****

The drive back felt significantly shorter than the trip to the diner. Maybe because the sun is beginning to rise. Maybe because Jisung took a short cut down the street by the train station, bypassing the cul de sac near the shopping center. 

****

They're parked right before his driveway, but Minho doesn't want to get out. He's home, but he'd be remiss to pop open the passenger side door. He's home, in more ways than one.

****

“This was fun,” Minho said through a wistful sigh, as if the night went too fast. It did, even though they've been out for hours. His tummy is still full from the heavy creaminess of the milkshake, but the artificial sweetener is now doing little to combat Minho's desire to curl up in bed and snooze the incoming day away. 

****

It's nearing 5 in the morning, and the world is still largely stagnant, but there are burgeoning signs of life as the sun begins its ascent. Haggard business men locking up their houses, briefcases in hand as they start walking towards the train station. One car sputters down the road, chugging along as if the vehicle itself is as physically exhausted as its driver. Birds are starting to sing and soar, winged bodies outlined in shadow against the lavender hue of the dawn. 

****

There's a new neon pink sticky note slapped onto Jisung’s dashboard.  _ Use your turn signal dummy!!!  _ scrawled in thick black marker. Some of the letters are a bit wonky, but Minho did the best he could under the G-force of Jisung’s hairpin turns and wild maneuvering down the roads. Under the diminishing moonlight and peaking sunlight, the fluorescent sheet of stationary almost appears to glow from within. 

****

Jisung hummed, a single low-note of agreement. His phone is disconnected from the aux, allowing the chirps of the awakening songbirds to permeate through the fogged windows. 

****

Without another word, Jisung unclipped his seatbelt, and leaned across the console. His styrofoam milkshake cup is still in the left cup holder, and the straw almost got caught through a button hole of his denim jacket. 

****

Jisung clambered over the loose change and gum wrappers in the right cup holder, and placed a gentle hand under Minho's jaw. He turned his head, until they're facing each other.

****

Jisung closed the inches between them, and seamed their lips together. 

****

The kiss was short and sweet. Short like the night, and sweet like their forgotten milkshakes. Minho even tasted the frosted zing of the cheesecake flavor on Jisung’s lips. Minho would have loved to go back for seconds, when Jisung pulled away.

****

They stared into each other’s eyes, bright despite the hours of midnight company and starry despite the newfound absence of night. 

****

“Same time tomorrow?” Jisung asked, his hand still cupping Minho's jaw. His skin is burning hot under Jisung’s palm, Minho knows. The heat in the car is off. He almost flicked on the AC. 

****

Minho smiled so wide it bunched up his cheeks. Made Jisung have to shift the positioning of his hand on his jaw to compensate. He still tastes sugary deserts between his lips, as he gazed into Jisung's eyes. He wouldn't have it any other way. Wouldn’t want any other routine, wouldn’t want any other personification of bad habits always at his side. Even though he'll be covering the next round of milkshakes. 

****

“Same time tomorrow, Jisung.” 

**Author's Note:**

> get cool is my fave skz song (and the track that got me into them) so it physically hurt me to write jisung doing our lord and savior dirty….. 
> 
> My [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus)


End file.
